A stiff breeze lashes at the boots of Starr Park. Wicked winds sent rushing in from the east as a dust cloud formed along the floors of the Wild West. Dirtying the boots of patrons as they rushed for cover. Doors slammed shut behind them as the particles beat against the wooden exterior.

A single green foot slammed down beneath the entrance sign. A massive ball of twine-like weeds rolled with the sand behind it. A spiney leg ran up to dust brown shorts and a wide green torso. The living cactus affixed his purple, felt vest and dusted off the cardboard deputy badge on his chest. He brushed back the rosy flower on his head and blew out a heavy breath.

Well, he would have sighed if he had the lungs to do it. The benefits and pitfalls of being a sentient plant.

Spike looked around at the desolate street. The wind refused to relent but he wasn't bothered. He looked into the breeze and ate a snack bag's worth of gravel. Then quickly bent over to shake out the minuscule rocks. The torrent of grain smashed against the walls and battered the doors. It was a rapturous uproar of wooden hinges creaking back and forth.

He walked onward. Alone in his own home. Born and bred in a lab then placed in this desolate town. He was there for every development. Each major rise and fall as the Wild West grew into the main event it is today. His friends might have been circumstantial once, but his found family was just as real as anyone else's.

Speaking of that family, Spike hoped he wouldn't get in too much trouble tonight. Colt told him a week ago not to walk around alone. With the cavalcade of disappearances, solidarity wasn't safe. Thankfully, he wasn't alone for most of the day. He was being chased around the park by Colette the entire time. The silver-haired Starr Shop employee was insatiable. He gave her an autograph, some spines from his needle grenade, she had even taken a petal from his rose flower but enough was never enough.

He had been running away for over an hour before he finally lost her. Well, he says he lost her but in reality her boss snatched her up and dragged her back to the store. He decided to rest his feet inside an old friend's shop. Piper's Bakery was furnished with deceptively comfy couches. He'd have to pay her back for tearing up upholstery with his spines. It was already dark when he finally awoke. He was just happy he had made it back to the Wild West in one piece.

As he walked past Barley's the posters were peeling off the walls. Dynamike's poster was showing signs showed the most decay but the new adverts for Poco and Emz were still pristine. They talked about how Emz and Poco were on tour around the world. Dates, however, were not posted.

Lou's poster was still in mint condition. He had a bright smile with a playful wink and outstretched thumb. A colorful graphic explained that he was on the quest for "The Ultimate Flavor". Spike was there when they learned the truth. Chester mentioned that Dynamike, Poco, and Emz might be connected. Colt had informed them of the reports from the Starr executives. If Brawlers were being kidnapped, who knows who will be next?

The assaulting wind finally cooled to a light breeze. The wooden rocking relaxed and gave way to a new sound. A soft humming accented by the plucking of razor-sharp strings. Spike had made it far past the bar and was just one corner away from The Dusty Apartments which he called home. He caught the tail end of a tune as he grew closer. Once a normal occurrence what with Poco's residence at the same flats, but after his disappearance the music had suddenly stopped.

Spike leaned his head in the direction of the noise. His non-existent ears perked up at the return of merry melodies. He found himself helplessly drifting on a sea of half notes. His feet were light as a feather as he was whisked off his original path and deeper into the bowels of the district.

When he touched down he was positioned on the other side of town. It was probably another twenty minutes worth of walking if he wanted to make it home now. He looked around and noticed that he was in a prop area. There were fake buildings on either side of the street held up by sturdy wooden braces. The doors were functional though they just entered another box meant to simulate the beginning of a standard home.

This street was usually used for impromptu brawls. Fans could sit on the outskirts of the fake road and watch as various Brawlers scuffled for irrelevant reasons. Spike stood in the street and looked around aimlessly. He couldn't tell where from, but the music continued to play.

Then from the shadows of the dust storm came a figure. It slowly sauntered forward with Spike in its sight. As it grew closer so did the music's volume swell. Spike froze in its wake. The silhouette transformed into a figure he knew all too well. A slim build attached to a short frame. Shiny black shoes that pushed against wide black pants legs. Plus a massive sombrero that swallowed up his bony head.

Spike's mood lifted even higher. His old friend Poco was back. In living color and still just as talented as ever. Spike slowly walked toward his ally with an exuberant wave. As he got closer he noticed that Poco's sombrero had nearly doubled in size. He could probably hide his body behind it if he crouched.

The distance closed yet Poco didn't bother talking. Spike's excitement blinded his reason. He ran forward with plans to glomp into his friend's arms. Thorns be damned. He moved faster and faster. Flat green feet kicked up dust as his pace quickened. Then the cells in his body began to choke. Even without lungs, he felt short of breath. He tripped on a depression in the ground and tumbled about in the dirt. His pristine purple vest was further smudged by his fumbled footing on an attempted rise and that choking feeling refused to relent.

Ahead of him was still his friend Poco. The mariachi hadn't taken a single step forward. He continued to fill the empty road with a troublesome tune almost matching Spike's growing confusion.

When he got back to even footing, he noticed the world was a different hue. There was a purple tint in the air. A color that didn't bode well for him. He turned around and found the source. A young girl snickering to herself with straps of fabric rolling off her shoulders. From her waist came the violet smog that was flooding their passages. A billow of heavy smoke rolled up into the skies.

Her shambling stride was sloppier than usual. As if her legs had been broken and put back together in a rush. Spike tried to clear away some of the smog from his face. No matter how much he removed, Emz's Caustic Charisma continued to flood his chloroplasts.

Spike felt a heavy dread within his spines. He turned back to Poco, he was still playing music. Emz's fog grew in size. Spike's senses were on fire. He couldn't run north or south so he decided to run toward the buildings. He didn't remember how he got to this street but he knew he didn't want to stay here any longer. He turned tail and ran between two buildings. Did he come from the East or West? Either direction was better than here.

Then came the solid sound of two soft thuds. Spike looked back to see if Poco and Emz had collapsed. At his feet were not the crumbled bodies of his friends but two glowing red boom sticks. The soft hissing of a lit fuse sent a shiver through his phloem.

A loud boom rang out behind him. He was just able to duck in time, rolling forward and smacking his face against the thin wooden door. His spines latched onto the wooden partition. A stiff push was all it took to detach himself, but the sudden shock of the blast made his stems buckle under his weight. With his back to the wall, he observed the road ahead.

The opposing building was a cookie-cutter copy of the one he had slammed into. Atop the building's thin frame was a giggling grandpa. He could see the outline of his scraggly white beard against the moon above. He was bouncing between his left and right foot in a rhythmic beat matching Poco's song. He juggled two more explosive sticks while he laughed down at the cactus.

Spike managed to get back up once again. He took a step away from the building and heard an even heavier thud. He figured that Dynamike must have jumped down from his perch. Or maybe he fell. If he was lucky he fell.

Then came another set of hissing. He panicked knowing that another duo of dynamite was probably at his feet now. What he saw was far worse than that. It was a barrel. A barrel about as wide as him and just as short. It was overflowing with explosives. Dynamite, firecrackers, thermite, if it could go boom it was inside that container.

And it was only six inches away from his face.

Spike's body was invigorated and he jumped as far away as he could. A massive shockwave followed the humongous explosion. Spike could feel the heat sear his back. He was launched away and went slamming into another odd building. It splintered as he lodged into the side. A chunk of cactus was pulled off his sides. If he could speak he would have been screaming. So he just rolled around in circles on the floor begging silently for help.

Silent screams and screeches inaudible because of the lack of a larynx. Desperate pleas and cries hoping, praying that someone would help him. A sense of regret for even being given this sentience he once was so appreciative of. Worse of all, despite all his anguish he still had hope. Hope that someone will come. One of his friends would hear him. See him. Save him.

But nobody came.